After the Storm

Sunset.

A popsicle orange filters through the blinds

and here I am on my knees with a rag.

There is blood everywhere.

My hand frequently shoots up

To push down on my clammy skin.

I think of the way we cast shadows onto the gravel that night.

Feel the bleak silence cut into me.

My thoughts race,

Intertwine into violetbluegreen ribbons of perspective.

When I am done with this mess

I peel out of my red clothes,

Throw them into the garbage and sit.

Under a stream of hot water

For hours.

Days.

Weeks.

I took the time

Watched the leaves turn

And somehow, somehow

I survived.

Reviews

[Emily B]

There is power in the storm. And in the word. We will survive the storm and the word. Excellent emotional work.

[John A Common]

This is the second poem of your's I've read today and this one is very powerfull. You are a very good writer.